This World of Wonders
by LuminaCarina
Summary: When eight-year-old Harry Potter runs away from home, he gets caught up in some rather unsavoury stuff, both muggle and magical. Meanwhile, his Aunt is tearing the neighbourhood apart in an effort to find him. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

#

When Harry Potter was eight years old, he ran away.

It wasn't a hard thing to decide, and it wasn't hard to do. He just… took the wrong turn on his way back from school. On purpose, mind you.

It had been a difficult day and the children had been especially mean to him. They could all do their numbers, while he still tripped over the multiplication tab. They'd had a test and his was almost completely wrong, so everybody had laughed at him.

As he walked back, he thought gloomily how nice it would be if he never had to go to school again. And then the street forked, and Dudley went left towards their house, and Harry… Harry turned right.

He knew Aunt Petunia would be awfully mad at him if she caught him, but that was alright. He would just have to make sure he didn't get caught. It was scary, but in a good way.

Little Whinging was suddenly so much bigger than before, and Harry soaked up its sight with hungry eyes. He continued walking even when he didn't know which way was home anymore.

#

Petunia Dursley was a terrifying woman. She ran her household with an iron fist, and no matter how it may seem to outsiders, she was the one who wore the pants in her marriage.

Maybe in another life, she would have let Vernon walk all over her, but in this one she had a son and a nephew to raise into normal, respectable citizens, and Lord knows how terrible it would be if Vernon accidentally awakened the freakishness in their wards.

So she watched the two boys like a hawk, careful to extinguish any and all possible oddities about them. She treated them equally and forced them to be, if not brothers or cousins, then at least friends.

Petunia Dursley always knew what was going on with her wards, always. This was why, when Dudley came home and Harry didn't, she narrowed her eyes calculatingly.

The teachers didn't call to report any injuries to Harry's person, nor any incidents. They didn't send Dudley earlier, either, because she would've been informed. Which meant that the two had been let out of school at the same time.

And now Harry was missing…

A quick interrogation of Dudley told her that Harry had been with him for most of the way, and then disappeared. Dudley had assumed that Harry was ahead of him.

This meant that Harry was missing. Taken.

Stolen.

Petunia Dursley was a terrifying woman. She put Dudley's snack in front of him, put on her shoes and coat, and marched out of the house to the Police station.

She would get to the bottom of this.

#

Harry walked and walked and walked. His feet had started to hurt. He was tired, hungry and lost. Maybe this running away idea wasn't the best one he ever had…

''Are you lost, little boy?''

Harry lifted his head from where had had been glaring at the ground.

The man who had spoken was tall and needed a good shave, but his clothes were clean and he didn't look like an alcoholic or an addict, and he wasn't carrying any guns or knives as far as Harry could see. Maybe he was just an ordinary man, worried for the sake of a lost child and wanting to do his civic duty by aiding him.

Harry squinted at him suspiciously.

Or maybe he was a child slave trader, a thief there to rob him of his kidneys, or involved in a child prostitution ring. Harry didn't really know what any of those meant, but Aunt Petunia had ranted about them to him and Dudley often and passionately enough, so he knew it wasn't anything good.

He did the only logical thing that came to mind.

He screamed.

The man cursed and tried to shut him up, but Harry resisted. Aunt Petunia would be so angry with him if he let himself get stolen.

Besides, he rather enjoyed the chaos he had started in the street. Seeing an old lady smack the man with a cane was very satisfying. That she kept calling him a pervert was just an added bonus.

''Kid, you alright?''

This person was another man, young and twitchy and sort of useless looking, with thick glasses and sweaty hands. Harry thought that he wouldn't be able to rob a pen from his own pocket, let alone take his kidneys.

He nodded to himself.

Such a stupid person would be a safe caretaker until Aunt Petunia could find him.

Taking his nod as an answer to his question, the man rubbed the back of his head. ''Do you… want something to eat?'' the man peered at him cautiously. ''You look kind of beat up.''

''Yeah, sure.''

Dusting off his school uniform, Harry stood up and followed after the man.

#

In the meantime, Petunia Dursley was terrorising the Police.

She had never had much respect for them, which was why she made sure Dudley and Harry had a good understanding of keeping themselves safe, but this kind of incompetence was really too much. Apparently, they could do nothing about her missing nephew until at least a day had passed.

She had called Vernon and informed him about the situation, and was now breathing fire down the Principal's neck. The man had been called to the Police station for questioning. He was sweating buckets and kept apologising for even the slightest infraction, such as wearing a red tie with a brown blazer.

Petunia was so irate she wanted to hit him. ''And what were you thinking when you didn't have a teacher check the premises for freaks and paedophiles? You weren't thinking, that's what! And now, due to your idiocy, my nephew is gone!'' she ranted.

Eventually, she was removed from the traumatised Principal.

''Madam,'' the Chief of Police sighed, ''we understand your worry, but you need to let us do our jobs.''

Petunia sniffed disdainfully. ''Maybe if you actually did your jobs. All I've seen you do is drink coffee and drag your feet in finding my nephew.''

Everyone knew coffee was for barbarians. If they were proper gentlemen, they would drink tea.

The Chief covered his eyes. ''Please, Madam…''

Petunia regarded him critically. ''I think I'll be conducting my own investigation.'' She decided. ''It can't be that hard to do better than you.''

She stood up, more elegant than a long-necked, horse-faced woman had any right to be, and walked out imperiously. The chief didn't know whether to cry or breathe a sigh in relief.

#

''So… you live here?''

Harry was expecting the man to live in a messy, dusty flat. That it was an organised, dusty flat was a welcome surprise.

The man nodded his head. ''Ah ha. Do you want tea?''

Harry thought it over. It might be drugged, whatever that was, but then again, it would be rude to decline. Hmmm… ''Alright.'' He agreed. ''Four sugars, please.''

The man turned away from the stove and looked at him oddly. ''Four? In one cup?'' he frowned at him. ''Isn't that unhealthy?''

Harry shrugged and swung his legs. His toes barely scraped the floorboards. He accepted the tea quietly from the man, making sure to murmur a soft ''Thank you,'' before falling silent.

The two watched each other carefully. Their tea had gone from hot to lukewarm while they tried to think of something to say, but still neither of them had talked.

Finally, the man broke. ''I'm Soren.'' He said. ''You?''

Harry wanted to tell him his name was stupid and didn't fit him at all, but instead he scrambled for his own fake name. ''I'm... Harry…is. I'm Harris.'' He dared the man to distrust him.

''Alright.'' Soren's shoulders slumped a bit. ''Don't you have a family, Harris? You should go find them.''

Harry considered that. ''Do you have a phone?''

Soren panicked. ''No!''

Tightening his grip on the pink teacup, Harry gave him a queer look.

''I, I mean…'' Soren sweated. ''I don't have a phone.''

''Yes, you do. It's right there.'' Harry pointed at the grey phone, which was very obviously hanging from the wall.

''O-oh. Well, actually, it's broken.'' Soren nodded resolutely. ''Yeah. Can't use it. At all.''

There were so many thoughts flying around in Harry's head, all of them horrible. He stared at Soren mournfully. ''You're hunted by the mafia, aren't you? Or the Police.''

Soren started drawing circles on the table with his finger. ''No! No. Well, not really.'' He sneaked a look at Harry. ''It's complicated. You should go.''

But now Harry was interested. ''What do you mean 'it's complicated'?'' he inquired.

Suddenly, something changed. It was as if the quality of the air was different, like some window had opened and was letting in fresh, cool air.

Soren pursed his lips and tapped a beat on the table. ''Look, kid, Harris, whatever. It's complicated. Not something you should be involved with.''

He didn't look so useless anymore, Harry thought. He actually looked… dangerous.

''Little kids like you,'' Soren continued, ''should be safe and ignorant. Now, you're going to leave my flat, go to some convenience store, and call your parents to pick you up.''

Harry measured him cautiously. This wasn't the dolt he felt perfectly safe with, and he felt his palms start sweating. Out of the blue, he ached for Privet Drive and Number 4, with his comfortable room and the telly and Aunt Petunia's reassuring presence in the kitchen, baking biscuits.

And then the phone rang and the moment shattered.

Soren flinched and stared at the device with dread, pale and back to his twitchy self. The phone rang and rang, before beeping. A male voice was heard as it left the message.

''Soren, it's time. I tried, I really did, but it's no use anymore. If I were you, I'd get the fuck out of there like the hounds of hell were at my heels, 'cause there's no bloody way they'll let you go. I hope you get what I'm saying, mate. This isn't the time to be heroic.''

Soren's eyes gazed unseeingly at the phone.

''Soren?'' Harry asked hesitantly. Soren was starting to look ill.

Soren snapped out of it. ''Oh damn it all!'' he shrieked.

Harry flinched at this sudden curse, as it was most unlike Soren.

He was in a state where he didn't know how to react. On one hand, this was shaping up to be the prologue of an action packed book, meaning it was very dangerous and he should get out of there as fast as possible. But on the other hand, dangerous things are oftentimes very interesting, and Harry was undeniably curious about this danger Soren was in.

''I, I, I... Oh no, oh no, oh nooo…'' Soren was swaying, gripping the table so hard his knuckles were white. ''No, this can't…''

''Soren? Who was that just now?''

Soren's eyes snapped to him. ''You need to le-leave. Right now. Oh no…''

Harry tried to imitate Aunt Petunia and lifted his nose in the air. ''I'm not going anywhere until you tell me who that was.'' He scolded.

''Tha-that was… a friend. Of a sort. Smart fellow, that one. I… I should listen to him. No time for heroics. None at a-all. Oh nooo…''

''What do you mean 'heroics'? Does someone need help?''

Soren sniffled. ''No-not really… I mean…'' He wiped a few tears. ''You ne-need to go home.''

''I ran away from home.'' Harry admitted. ''I can't go back.''

Soren looked like the sky had crashed down on him. ''Then what a-am I… I can't just leave you here…'' He kept wringing his hands. ''What if so-something happens to y-you…?''

''I can take care of myself.'' Soren didn't look convinced. ''Really,'' Harry insisted. ''I can. And I'm not leaving you in danger. Why are you in danger anyway?''

''I, I suppose I could t-tell you…'' Soren slumped. ''I'm a s-scientist… of a sort. I ma-made something very da-dangerous. And now… some very bad people want my invention. I ca-can't let them have it. But they'll take it a-anyway… by force. So I have to le-leave.''

Harry tried to work it all out in his head. ''Then… What will happen to your invention?''

''They'll ha-have it. But I'll be safe. H-hopefully.''

''But you can't let them have it! Who knows what they'll do with it!'' Harry was incredulous. ''We have to keep it safe from them. I'll help you.'' He told him resolutely.

''No!'' Soren burst out tearfully. ''Y-you're a child. I ha-have to keep you safe!''

''But what if they do something really wicked with your invention and I get hurt anyway? Then it'll be your fault.''

''But… But…'' Soren flailed. ''A-are you sure you can't go home?''

''Yes.'' Harry lied to him plainly.

Soren whimpered.

''Oh, alright then.'' He gave up, huffing desolately. ''But, y-you have to listen to me. I, I have to keep you s-safe.''

#

''I will be frank with you ladies.'' Petunia set her teacup down and gave a grave look at the women gathered in her house. ''My nephew has been kidnapped.''

The women gasped.

''It happened on the way back from school.'' Petunia continued. ''The Police are utterly useless in this endeavour. Which is why I need your help in finding him.''

Mallory immediately took Petunia's hand. ''Of course we'll help! If something like this happened to my little girl, I'd hope for your help, too.''

The women all nodded in acquiescence.

''But what can we do?'' cynically asked Sarah, stirring a dollop of honey in her cream, before pouring it all her tea. ''We're just homemakers.''

''Exactly.'' Petunia smirked deviously. ''Tell me, who has better knowledge of this town than us? Who hears gossip sooner? Who sniffs out the truth in scandals more correctly?''

The three women considered that. It was true they had access to all the rumours in Little Whinging.

''But…'' Rose bit her lip. ''It's dangerous… What if we get hurt?''

''You have a son, do you not, Rose?'' Petunia gave her a steely-eyed stare. ''What if it was him who was taken? Or, what if he does get stolen? We have no proof my nephew was the only one.''

Rose, ashamed and flushed to the roots of her hair, lowered her head. ''I… I'm sorry.''

''There, there, dear.'' Sarah patted her shoulder. ''Now,'' she turned to Petunia. ''My husband's brother works in the Police. We can use him. I'm afraid that's all I can think of for now, though.''

''No worries.'' Petunia waved her off. ''Mallory can –''

''I can call my mother!'' Mallory exclaimed. ''If there's anyone who can tell us who would do this, it's her and her little black book.''

''I… I suppose I could… ask my brother?'' Rose stammered hopefully.

''Good. I will send some letters of my own.'' Petunia took a sip of her tea. ''May the Heaven have mercy on the poor fools who took my child.''

Sarah chuckled at the ominous words. ''We certainly won't.''

#

Arabella Fig was an interesting woman.

If you asked the residents of Privet Drive, they would tell you she was as mad as the Hatter. Really, keeping over thirty cats, walking in public in a bathrobe, eating pickled cabbage of all things… To the residents of Privet Drive, which was frozen somewhere in the fifties, she was the obligatory cat lady they didn't want but had to have.

However, if you asked those who knew her before she moved in Number 12… the reactions would be more than just a tad different.

Because of this discrepancy, she mostly avoided contact with normal people, or, in Mrs Fig's crazy mumbling, with muggles. Those who knew of her habits gladly abided by this. It was not as if she could offer much to them, anyway.

But to one Petunia Dursley, she was the doorway to a whole other world. Of course, the woman was still mad, just as the rest of the abnormal company she kept, so Petunia couldn't go there by herself. If the freaks got their claws into her Harry…

So, Petunia brought reinforcements. Mrs Number 5 Sarah, Mrs Number 8 Mallory and Mrs Number 16 Rose accompanied her. Together, the four women made for an impressive sight. All tall, all blonde, and all dressed in pastel pink.

''Oh.'' Mrs Fig sounded sour when she opened the door and saw who it was that was visiting her. ''It's you. What do you want?''

Petunia sneered at this rudeness. ''My nephew was kidnapped.'' She announced. ''I want to know if your lot had something to do with it.'' The words 'your lot' were spoken in the same tone of voice one might say 'rats', 'cockroaches' or 'lice'.

The four blondes shouldered their way past Mrs Fig and into the lounge, cringing a tad at the vast amounts of cat hair that littered the floor and all other horizontal surfaces. Rose shuddered and hid behind Sarah when she caught sight of a large Persian tracking all her movement.

''I don't know anything.'' Mrs Fig resolutely said, passive-aggressively not offering them any tea or biscuits. ''I can't help you at all.''

''Su-surely you can a-at least try?'' Rose asked hesitantly. ''I-it is a child in da-danger.''

''You can contact some of your lot.'' Petunia said grimly. It was truly a sad day when she had to voluntarily associate with those freaks. ''If they didn't do it, at least they can help. Isn't my nephew important to you?''

Arabella eyed them. Sarah and Mallory made sure to imitate stone walls to make up for Rose folding in on herself. ''I can't say anything with them here.'' She said finally.

Petunia frowned. ''No. They stay. I don't trust you or your folk as far as I can throw you; they're here to make sure there is no funny business.''

The two fought a duel with their glares as weapons.

Finally, Mrs Fig grudgingly pulled back. ''Alright, I'll send a letter to Dumbledore.'' The four women smiled at each other victoriously.

''But,'' Mrs Fig continued. ''They might not go about it the way you'd like them to, puppet.''

#

**Unedited; un-beta'd**

**So, this is an experiment with the Dursleys. I just hate how everyone vilifies them – they have the potential to be great characters. Expect random updates: as I said, this is an experiment, not a full-time project.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

#

''Can we… can we… can – oh bollocks.''

''Harris!'' Soren was scandalised even as he picked up the exhausted boy. He was carrying Harris, as it was dark and late at night, and Harris couldn't be over nine years of age. ''Mind your language!''

Harry protested weakly from his place in Soren's arms, batting a bit at the hands clutching painfully on his hips. ''We've been running for hours… Can't we take a bus?''

This was an exaggeration of course, but to an eight-year-old half an hour seemed like an eternity, so Soren understood the impatience and annoyance. Especially since Harris had the stamina of a cooked noodle.

''Not until we've left Little Whinging.'' He told him, adjusting his grip to make the child more comfortable. ''We can take one after that.''

Harry tried to say that Soren just wanted to tire him out, having got bored of deflecting Harry's questions about his invention, but was far too sleepy for that and a yawn took the place of words in his mouth. Looks like Soren's plan worked. Grumbling to himself, Harry took revenge by tucking his head under Soren's chin in a way he knew would leave bruising on the collarbone.

He didn't even know what the invention was yet. He thought mutinously that Soren's looks and generally pathetic air covered up his inner sadism a little too well. The brunet had been jostling him around like a sack of potatoes, claiming that Harry was far too slow. The man had even stopped stammering a short while after they left the flat!

Soren himself was out of his mind with fear. The only reason he was going to London and not in the direction of France was because he had to find a safe place for Harris. But, Harry didn't know this, and he went on thinking his caretaker was secretly a super-spy of some kind, only pretending to be a useless university student.

Harry's head lolled on Soren's shoulder, smearing some drool on the linen of his shirt. ''Mm…'' he slurred, ''Where're we going…?''

Soren sighed. Harris hadn't stopped asking him questions he couldn't and wouldn't answer since they left his flat. He didn't even stop when Soren gave him a backpack to carry as punishment for being so awfully nosy. Despairingly, he resigned himself to the continuation of the torment. At least he wouldn't have time to panic. ''To London.''

''Why?''

Patting Harris' head, he reminded himself to be kind. ''My friend lives there.'' he explained softly, so as not to startle the boy awake.

''Your…'' Harris yawned, interrupting himself. ''Friend?''

''Yes.''

''Name?'' the child demanded sleepily.

''Rhys.''

Harris curled up in his arms, accidentally digging his fist in Soren's collarbone. ''That's… a we-weird name.''

''Yes.'' Soren sighed exasperatedly. ''Now sleep.''

''Can't.'' Harris mumbled. ''You're moving.''

Soren felt a pang of guilt. He was moving, after all. No wonder the poor boy was so tired. ''I'll stop soon.'' He comforted. ''There's a bus stop near. Sleep.''

With a throaty rumble, Harry curled up in Soren's arms more comfortably. ''M'kay…''

#

''So…'' the man turned the page of his newspapers, voice light and idle. ''You want me to break several laws and betray my boss' trust, all so you can do a favour for your neighbour?''

Despite wincing a bit at the amused and condescending conclusion, Sarah nodded. ''Exactly.''

Her brother-in-law gave her a deadpan stare, those dark eyes drilling into her with all the force of a bullet. ''Not a chance in hell.'' He put the newspapers down and flipped the sports magazine open. ''Isn't this the same neighbour you always try to outdo when it comes to your… garden, was it? And, didn't you call her a nosy peeping Tom just a week ago?''

Sarah rolled her eyes at him. Really, he didn't understand the nuances of friendship at all. ''Don't be silly, Vince.'' She told him as she arranged the flowers in the vase. ''Of course we're friends. And it's her nephew that was kidnapped. Don't you want to help?''

He merely hummed noncommittally. He was of the opinion that his working on the case helped more than enough.

''Besides,'' Sarah further persuaded. ''I'll make you those scones you love.''

No reaction. Vincent kept his face stony and expressionless. Sarah was an absolute monster when it came to the things she wanted, and one of her favourite tactics to get those things was to bribe people, followed closely by guilt. No one was supposed to know that she also wasn't above crying for the sake of completing her goals. He knew that, if he wanted to resist her, he had to maintain the countenance of a pillar.

Sarah sighed and frowned at him disapprovingly. ''Vince, please. The Police are absolutely useless – no offence to you, truly. But Pet is going out of her mind with worry. We aren't asking that you tell us confidential stuff, God no! Just the little clues you find, the theories you have. Just those. It's not much, now is it?''

''That is exactly what is considered 'confidential'.'' Vincent put his magazine down and rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking a peek at Sarah and seeing those blue eyes staring at him pleadingly. ''Will you leave me alone if I agree?'' he asked.

Sarah smiled widely, snapping her fingers in success. ''Only if you agree.'' She wheedled. Just a bit more…

''Fine, then.'' Her brother-in-law snapped. ''And I still want those scones!'' he added petulantly.

She beamed and rushed to the kitchen. ''Scones, coming right up!'

#

Rhys turned out to be a scowling, young and particularly short man with hair of indeterminable shade of rusty red, who had, upon opening the door and seeing them miserably standing there, angrily barked an order at them to tell him why there were there. The way Soren bent his neck at the other and apologised profusely made the hairs on Harry's neck rise.

His wife was tall and willowy, with a breathtakingly beautiful face and long, blonde hair. She had gasped in joy when she saw Harry, and introduced herself as Perunika, laughing happily and petting his hair and shoulders. She also hated Rhys, which was very obvious from the way she hissed like an angry cat at him the whole time they spent in the same room.

Soren had immediately retreated into the study with Rhys, leaving Harry and Perunika by themselves. Harry thought this to be a good thing, because Perunika had been glaring at Rhys and fiddling with a kitchen knife in a way that had him strangely worried.

Once the two men were gone, Perunika fluttered around the kitchen, putting out sweets and cheese and olives, honestly expecting him to eat it all. It was when he tried to tell her he couldn't possibly eat it all that he saw something impossible. Perunika's ear was pointed.

The blonde woman laughed when she saw what had him so preoccupied he wasn't eating. ''I'm a Vila, Harris.'' She told him fondly. ''You would say a Faerie, here, though there is a difference.''

Harry's first reaction was to deny this. Aunt Petunia had been very clear when she imparted this knowledge on him and Dudley – magic wasn't real outside of folk-tales and Disney films. ''But Faeries aren't real.'' He told Perunika incredulously.

She, though, merely giggled softly. ''Oh but we are.'' She whispered. ''Though, I am likely the only Vila you will ever see.''

Harry tilted his head, momentarily accepting the existence of Faeries so that he could solve this new mystery. ''Why?''

Now Perunika started to look very sad, biting her lower lip hard enough for it to go white and bloodless. ''Because Vile, or Vilas as you would say, don't belong here. It is cold here, and wet. I lived –'' she broke off, stroking his cheek. ''But it is better that you don't know. You will grow up, and then… it is better that you don't know where to find my sisters.''

Harry frowned. ''Why don't you go back, then?''

Perunika sighed. ''Because I cannot. Not only is it too far away for me to reach on my own, but there is also the fact that Rhys trapped me.''

Suddenly she stood up in anger, letting go of his face as if burned. ''He was my beloved, I trusted him. And he how did he repay me for my love? He caged me like a dog, controlling me. And you are like him, will be exactly like him. Men!'' she spat, pinching his arm sharply. ''All the same, all ungrateful pigs!''

She looked terrible and terrifying at that moment, her skin flushed in anger, eyes flashing white instead of their original blue.

''Miss Per-Pe-Peru –''

Perunika softened at his fear, returning back to normal. ''I'm sorry, Harris. You are only a boy, I shouldn't have lost my temper. If you cannot say my name, call me Mila. I will not mind.''

Assured that she wasn't angry anymore, Harry relaxed. He knew that he should be very afraid, because Mila was other than human, but it was hard. Maybe it was her magic or something similar, but she felt… safe.

''What does Mila mean? And Per – your real name?''

Mila hummed, perching herself delicately on the chair opposite of him. ''Mila means dear, sweet, gentle. If I were to call you by that, it would be Mili. And Perunika, in literal translation would mean the flower of Perun. Perun is our god, though we do not worship him anymore. It is more like…'' she searched for a word. ''The Iris flower, you would say if you saw it. Very pretty, either blue, white of purple.''

''Why is it called the flower of Per – your god?'' Harry inquired.

Mila smiled at him. ''Because, it only grows from the ground that has been struck by lightning.'' She explained. ''And Perun – say the 'r' nice and hard, Harris – is the god of the sky, and he wields lightning as a weapon.''

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He had never heard of this god; the only god that used lightning he knew of was Jupiter, but he liked this god better. He made flowers grow, and Mila liked him. He sounded nice.

Then the door opened and Rhys and Soren came in, Rhys somehow even angrier than before, and Soren looking near tears. Mila jumped to her feet as if burned.

Rhys scowled fiercely at her, threatening and imposing despite his lacking height. ''Did you scare him on purpose, Nika? I told you to be polite.''

Mila tossed her hair, twisted her lips in disgust and went back to the kitchen, clearly avoiding him. Harry didn't blame her; Mr Rhys had been awfully rude to her.

''You okay, kid?'' Rhys quickly inspected him from head to toe when she had gone away. ''My wife can be rather cruel when she wants to be.''

''She was really nice to me.'' Harry proudly declared in her defence. ''She gave me food, and sweets. And she told me about lightning flowers, too.''

Rhys hummed distractedly, looking around the cramped sitting room. ''Hey, Soren, pass me my wallet.''

''Ah, h-here.'' Soren tossed the small leather purse as quickly as he could.

Rhys crouched in front of Harry and looked at the green-eyed child seriously, holding out a piece of paper with something scribbled on it and several banknotes. ''Here, take this.'' He instructed. ''You'll need the money, and you might need me too before this is all over. It's my number written there. Soren has it, too, but if you get separated for whatever reason…''

Soren tried to interject. ''I don't plan on –''

''You're a good kid,'' Rhys ruthlessly cut him off, explaining himself at Harry's suspicious look. ''I wouldn't want to see you dead. Call if you need help, alright?''

Harry nodded mutely, his mind still stuck on the 'dead' part. Why would he die?

Soren bundled him up in the coat Rhys lent them and led him out of the flat, Perunika's luminous eyes following them out and into the night-time bustle of the city. Harry waved to her, but was taken away by Soren before he could see her hesitantly wave back.

#

It wasn't often that the children of St Grogory's primary school came together with a common goal. In fact, it only happened every once in a blue moon. The truth of the matter was that the children there almost never had something to unite over. But now, with one of their own missing, the passing days with no new discoveries were enough to incur the wrath of the normally docile preteens.

Even if Harry Potter was small, and weird, and seen as rather daft by most of his schoolmates, he was still one of them. He had still worn their uniform, had still eaten lunch in the same pastel painted cafeteria as they had. And they protected their own.

When Dudley Dursley came to school quiet and sniffling occasionally, everyone was concerned. Dudley was a strong, if often inconsiderate boy, and to see him wiping his eyes of tears was… disturbing. Finding out that Dudley's cousin, that weird Potter kid, had been kidnapped, was even more so.

In a display of solidarity that would have shocked the adults had they seen it, the children held a council after school hours ended. It was held in the playground on Magnolia Road, presided by one Susan Gayle, with Dudley as a witness and the class presidents as the jury.

''And you said they took Potter there?'' Susan pointed her stick at Dudley, pushing her glasses further up her nose importantly. ''You're sure?''

The chubby boy nodded, quite intimidated by the older girl. ''That's where I last saw him.'' He repeated. ''Mum said that's where they took him.''

Susan tapped her chin. An adult's word was never to be whole-heartedly trusted, but Mrs Dursley had the reputation of being both scarily smart and painfully honest – never telling lies, only half-truths – so it was probably true. ''And the Police?''

Dudley snorted, scratching his cheek in thought. ''Mum says they're right useless.''

Susan hummed sagely at this, thoroughly agreeing with him. ''My Mamma said so, too.''

''Then what're we supposed to do?'' Piers called out, finally having got bored of waiting and listening on the side-lines. ''Potter's still missing, you know. The bluebottles won't be doing much, 'cause they can't. My pa says they wouldn't be able to find their way out of a paper bag, let alone a skinny brat like Potter.''

Much grumbling ensued as everyone wanted to share their thoughts on the Police's incompetence, along with the various gems their parents had said and thought would never be heard or repeated by anyone. Mr James of Number 11 would be deeply embarrassed if he knew what his son had told his friends about Mr James' experiences with the Police.

''Silence!'' yelled Susan, smacking her stick on the ground, and then giving it up in favour of blowing her whistle. ''Peace in the courtroom!'' she shrieked.

''This isn't a courtroom.'' Someone complained. ''I'm hungry.''

''Silence, peon.'' Snapped Susan in their general direction. She didn't really know what that meant, but her grandma often called her dad by that name, and as her dad always looked harried when he heard it, it had to be something mean.

In the end though, there was no silence. The kids all talked over each other, complaining, gossiping and yelling, but that didn't mean nothing got done. Unlike when adults argued, children had the odd ability to stay on topic and not regress to ad hominem. At least, they had the ability when they had the will, which was rare indeed.

At the end of the day several things had been decided.

One: the Police would likely do nothing worthwhile, and should just go back to eating doughnuts and drinking coffee. Their uniforms were silly and needed to be redesigned so that there was a bit more colour to them. Navy blue was so boyish and thug-like.

Two: Harry Potter had definitely been kidnapped, because that was simply more exciting than the possibility of him running away. They could play heroes this way, and Potter was certainly more interesting as an abduction victim than as a simple kid with no sports skills and mind-boggling habits of reading books twice his size.

And three: they would have to take matters in their own hands if they wanted the weirdo back.

#

**Unedited; un-beta'd**

**Chapter two is… well. I wanted it to be longer. But, well, this happened instead. And oh, I can't wait for the next chapter – we get to see some more Vincent. Is it wrong that I have a bit of a crush on my own original character?**


End file.
